


Tale of a Noble Pirate

by yulchii



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Piece
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulchii/pseuds/yulchii
Summary: Regulus drowns. Then he wakes up in a world almost entirely covered in ocean waters. Not ideal but it could have been worse. He could have been transported into a world where his mother screeches even louder or one where Voldemort has a very fiery and passionate romanse with Dumbledore... He needed a memory charm for that image, quick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a FFnet acount, yulchii too, go check out the stories there if you want to. Don't know if and when I update this. Don't really have time now (or ever) so it may not get a continuation but I needed to get it out there and, well, here it is.

He was dragged in by cold hands, skeletal and wet but surprisingly strong. The slippery fingers closing over his arms and legs, then slipping around his torso in a horrific imitation of a hug. His body was weak from the poison, he didn't even make an attempt to break himself free, knowing it for a futile action that it was.

And his flailing limbs would only succeed in making him look even more undignified than he did already. Most wouldn't think it was possible for him to look _worse_ than he already did. He was all sprawled out, pale and sweaty with dirt on his face, his robes wrinkled, singed and damp, resignation in his posture. And while there was fear in his eyes and trembling to his lips, his voice was incredibly steady. Waiting for the swarm of the Undead to pull him into the water's murky depths. He was fully aware though, that if he tried breaking free, he would look pathetic and the difficulty would undoubtly make him start begging. Or _crying_.

He didn't wish for Kreacher's last memory of him to be of his master snivelling and shaking on the ground.

He cast a last, faint smile (bordering on a grimace of pain and he barely stopping himself from calling out, ordering Kreacher to help, somehow, but the Inferi were all around now, Regulus was as good as dead wheather he made it out of their grasp, poison would do him in and if not that then Voldemort surely will strike him when he heard of what transpired here) his servant's way and gave a final command to him, "Go. Go and destroy it. Leave. _Now_ ," he made his voice as firm as he could in his position, knowing that it was probably the last anyone ever heard of him and wanting. Wanting this to be like the in the old tales Kreacher used to read to him when he was younger. About brave knights saving kingdoms and dying with smiles upon their faces and peace upon their souls.

Surely, Sirius wouldn't feel the same animosity towards Regulus as he did for the last few years, since his sorting. It grew worse after Regulus went to Hogwarts three years later and was predictably sorted into Slyhterin. Sirius was rather displeased with that, constantly sneering and often targeting Regulus in the pranks he and his band of friends were so infamous for. It didn't last long, only Regulus' first year, until he learned how to make himself scarce instead standing there looking dumb, with betrayed eyes trained on his older brother.

Surely, that last known act would make his brother look at Regulus' as a person differently. It was such a Gryffindor move, after all. It ought to make Regulus look bettter than he felt right in these moments, probably his last ones.

He listened with guilt to his eldest friend's sobs as the elf bowed one last time and vanished with a loud popping noise.

Only then, when he was surrounded only by the Inferi, his last hope having gone (he sent him away, why did he do this, why did you leave me here _Kreacher come back_ ) did he allow his smile to slip from his face and let the despair consume him. Then, when he was finally alone, he screamed.

 _Howled_. For Kreacher. For help. For his father. For _Siri_. For Merlin, Dumbledore, Minister Crouch even, maybe. Anyone, _anyone at all_ , please save me.

He thrashed weakly around, tried to get his wand from his holster (where he stashed it before, when he resigned himself to drinking the poison, he should have kept it in his hand, he should have _he should have_ ) but it only resulted in more hands grabbing at him and tugging him down the sloped stone. He hit the water and began to sink quickly, for the added weight of the Inferi. He cast his gaze up, at the vanishing light of the independent Lumos he flicked when he first entered the cave. He kept his eyes open even when the magic light flickered out, the magic fueling it - gone.

Then something _bit_ him in the ear. Bit in and _drew blood_ and _oh dear Salazar, was it bitten off?_ , and he opened his mouth to scream only there was _no air_ there was only water and endless _black_ -

* * *

Pain.

He woke up coughing, water and bile and maybe even blood. He checked, realized he was on his back, turned with some effort on his side and continued spitting out liquid.

The only thing that mattered right then was _breathing_.

When he finally regained his ability to breathe somewhat normally, he just laid there for a while. Spread out on his side, with wet hair sticking to his cheek and wet clothes clinging to his body, he shivered.

It was quite cold.

He puffed out a breath and closed his eyes tightly, he hurt all over and he was oh _so cold_ , the soaked clothes not helping in the least. Lying helplessly without knowing where he was wasn't going to help with that either. He needed to move.

He felt up his sleeve and let out a relieved breath. He had his wand, at least. He had this, he could get from there.

He had no idea how he was even _alive_ and whether it was a blessing or a curse but he wasn't going to find anything out by staying like that. First, Kreacher.

He did an all-body shiver and felt a sharp stab to his left. Well, no, actually. _First_ clothes, then his wounds. _And then_ Kreacher.

He cast a quick drying charm on himself and even if his clothes were a little stiff and smelled of seawater, he did not mind so much because at least now he could see about getting warm. And getting somewhere safe. Voldemort surely knew someone breached his soul's hiding place, did he not? And if not, surely someone alerted him. Or worse, told Regulus' mother (Merlin, please no) that he wasn't at Hogwarts (where he was _supposed_ to be, it was May, school was still on) and that he was somewhere he _wasn't_ supposed to be (in other words, _anywhere_ that wasn't Hogwarts).

He looked around. He was at a beach. Nowhere familiar came to mind. It was neither one of the private beaches belonging to the Black Family _nor_ was it the beach with the Dark Lord's cursed cave.

He stated blankly at the palm trees. It was a tropical beach. That... He seemed to have little bit of a problem.

He looked to the moon. It was night-time. He turned his eyes to the rest of the sky.

The Black Family had a tradition of naming their children after the constellations and stars. The sons and daughters of the House of Black knew all about the stars and constellations when they were merely six years old. Hogwarts' Astronomy classes were merely a socializing event for the Blacks.

Those stars above were foreign to him though. He did not know a single constellation.

He tore through the entire little island in history three hours flat and found no signs of civilization. He ran around the island in just an hour and spent the next two looking warily at the jungle and tentatively searching it closest to the beach. He was _not_ going in there when it was night-time, he wasn't _so_ daft.

He shook his head and decided to focus on feeling up the wound. He tentatively touched his left ear and breathed out quick breath, pained and shocked at once. The top of it, about 3 centimetres, wasn't there. There were, however sharp teethmarks and blood. He cast an Episkey but it only stopped the wound from bleeding, the ear was still uncomplete and unless he found the missing part (which was either in the stomach of an Inferi or at the bottom of the lake full of Inferi, yes, he wasn't going to search for it, not really), and attached it to back to himself, it would stay missing.

He... He _really_ needed Kreacher.

* * *

But, as he quickly found out, calling for Kreacher did not bring the little elf to him.

There was no answer to his questions and demands and even tentative pleading (begging) appeared to have no impact whatsoever. He wondered, maybe he was dead? Or this was all an illusion created by the Dark Lord to torture the ones who dared oppose him. Maybe it was _his own_ magic that showed him this place, trying to prolong his final moments.

He had no answers.

Casting a Point-Me spell for Kreacher, for Grimmauld Place, even for _Hogwarts_ resulted in his wand spinning in his palm without end.

He sat down on the sand, helplessly lost and confused, and ran his hands down his face and through his hair, tugging at the dark tufts in hopes of waking himself up. It was to no avail.

He wasn't dreaming. He was awake. His fears that it was an illusion created by Voldemort passed with every minute of nothing happening. Because if the Dark Lord was the one to craft this, there would have been a lot more pain and horror and screaming. But there was nothing, nothing but the sounds of waves washing over the shore in a slow, lazy manner. Maybe it was meant to be a torturously long wait, meant to make him go mad with boredom.

He curled his legs up to his chest, embraced them with his arms and laid his chin on his knees. And waited.

The sunrise was beautiful and as thankful as he was for being able to watch it, he would have been more thankful if he was back at Hogwarts. Or even better, at home, with Kreacher.

Unfortunately, he wasn't, and so he decided to tentatively let himself enjoy the time a little bit, still not quite sure what to think of the whole situation. Still wary and ready to run or fight for his life.

His stomach rumbled and he hung his head, he was hungry.

Thankfully, there were some fruit on the island so after eating three bananas and stashing two more in his cloak he decided to finally explore the little jungle. He could cast a Point-Me and specify the location as civilization or just people, and he did, it pointed away from the island, but earlier his wand pointed him neither home nor to Hogwarts, it may have been damaged. So he decided to check for himself.

Four very frustrating hours later, having found nothing bigger than a giant tarantula (and Merlin, was _that_ a scare, he wasn't scared but weirded out and disgusted by the thing scurring across the groung from where it landed when he hit the tree it previously sat upon with a blasting hex) and a few birds, he gave up and sat on the beach again, seeing nothing but water all around.

He sighed.

Looked in the direction his wand pointed towards civilization earlier and felt his shoulders drop. Then he forcefully straightened his posture and fixed a smile on his face, feeling it stretch and hurt his cheeks from the insincerity. He had to get through this. And so, he will.

To the sea, then.

The problem with this was, Regulus was only seventeen years old. He had no idea about sailing or boats. The only time he even was on a boat was at the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts, when all the firsties, come hell or high water, had to take a boat across the Lake for their very first look at the grand castle.

Theoretically, he knew what boats were supposed to look like, construction and materials wise. It was a miracle he wasn't a Ravenclaw really, with how he practically consumed books. He got interested when reading about the Vikings and somehow ended up with leather-bound books from a few centuries past about their boats. That, at least, he had covered.

 _Doing_ anything was another thing all together.

Regulus was Magic though, and, despite his initial wariness about his wand being cracked or at all damaged, he as all wizards and witches was able to make the magic do his bidding with just a wave of his wand. He used the cutting hex on some trees, levitated them, bound them together tightly to form a raft and then, when he tried it in water and saw that it wasn't sinking, _then_ he finally transfigured the thing into a small boat.

It was bigger than the one used to get across the Black Lake but not too big. It had a sail and a steer. It also had its quarters bellow the deck and while it looked like a broomstick closet, it was magically enlarged on the inside so that he had an entire room to himself.

He's had the vague idea of sailing somewhere in his head, he knew it wasn't as easy as it looked but navigating a ship, even this small, through these waters was really trying. At least he had a clear way to get wherever he was going (towards the civilization, yes, but _where exactly_ he wasn't sure, only that it was north of the island he woke up on).

There were whirlpools from which he only escaped by a hair's breadth, using spells to blast his way to safety. And then there were the rather violent storms, of the kind he never saw before, with waves as big as _the trees of the Forbidden Forest_. He had the feeling that his little boat was held together only by his constant chanting of _'Not yet not yet not yet, keep it together, don't break'_ but he was rather unsure whether he was saying that to the transferred raft _or_ himself.

When he finally saw the island his wand was pointing at, he allowed himself to sag against the steer. Relief warring with exhaustion, he carefully steered the boat towards the docks, the other ships' just about visible sails directing him towards it.

When he left for the town, he flicked a Notice-Me-Not and a Muggle repelling spells on the little ship, just in case someone decided to get aboard and try to steal it.

He didn't take to that cave anything expect what he was wearing, his wand and Kreacher. He only had the first two left but along the way he acquired a boat (even if it was just a transfigured raft) and he wasn't too keen on losing it.

He cast his eyes towards the sing welcoming him onto the island.

 _Log Town_.

He smiled, it was _English_ , and thank Salazar for that, at least he could communicate with the locals.

* * *

As it quickly turned out, the sign may have been _written_ in English but the _spoken_ language was very much not so.

It was _Japanese_ , if Regulus recalled correctly. He frowned, feeling his stomach tie itself into knots.

He was the scion of the House of Black and he had many tutors over the years who taught him many languages. Those being French, Spanish, German, Russian, Arabic fuscha and Chinese. The most wide spread ones. _No_ Japanese.

He could deal though, a translation spell should be able to get everything across quite nicely, if with a moment's delay so that the translated words were heard by others maybe a quarter of a second after he said them (lip reading would be a nightmare for those who try). The same was for him, he will hear everything but with a little bit of delay. And he would need to renew the spell. He didn't have an exact estimate of how long the spell will hold, it was usually used sparsely, a few hours tops and then there was no need for it anymore.

Now, there suddenly _was_ so he supposed he will be testing the spell's longevity and find out for himself. Maybe he should get a journal and write it all down. Now _that_ was an idea.

Wandering around the town, he observed people. The way they dressed, walked, talked. How much they paid for bread, fish, sweets. What _currency_ was in use.

He took note of the people in nondescript cloaks, sneaking around and generally being dramatically suspicious. Regulus knew something about that because if not for the power the Death Eaters possessed, for all the posturing and looming most of them did, people would have laughed them out. They were just that obvious.

There were also groups of soldiers, judging by the fact that all of them were wearing identical white and blue uniforms and carrying Muggle weapons. _Rifles_ , he believed them to be called. Wizards disregarded Muggles for a very long time and the discovery of gun powder and the manufacturing of weapons was followed by only some very concerned Wizards (the Blacks amongst them). A weapon such as this, a gun, that could kill instantly, with incredible speed, faster even than the Killing Curse. It was something to fear and warn the children about.

All those people were running towards the main square. All of them were heading in one direction and Regulus would have normally ignored it, his Slytherin side shying away from trouble and mayhem of any kind in fear of rebuttal or a reprimand.

But now, there were no teachers, no one _knew_ him, no one had any hold over him. No one would tell his _mother_.

He could just indulge himself this once and go see what was causing such commotion.

He flipped the hood of his cloak up, tightened the silver pin holding it together below his throat and started heading towards the town's center.

He felt his eyes widen at the sight before him. The main square had a great execution platform in the center. Execution platform which was currently _in use_.

There was a boy chained there, about Regulus' age but looking so much like Sirius with that wild grin, careless in the face of such danger that Regulus paused. Then the boy sucked in a breath and called out, loudly, so that his voice could be heard over the plaza, "You have before you a man who will become the King of Pirates!"

It wouldn't have shocked Regulus more if someone hit him in the face now. Such bold statement. Even not knowing the exact meaning of the title the King part was quite clear to him. And if it was a hereditary thing or not didn't seem to matter. Because the surety in that one sentence had the power to topple _entire nations_. Or that's how it felt like to him, there was something exotic, enticing, inviting him to look upon this boy and heed his words. For some reason, he did. There was a power there, he could feel it, some kind of power making all these people come gather in one place and look up with wide eyes.

Looking at that determination and certainty was something else than staring at Voldemort's maniacal desire for greatness and power. Looking at the lack of fear before death was something else than Voldemort's paranoia and avoidance of any _mortal_ matters.

"Zoro! Nami! Usopp! Sanji! Sorry, I'm dead!" He heard the message later than the rest of the crowd so his reaction was a little delayed. But looking at that easy acceptance of his fate, _of death_ , he found himself even shocked that this, too, was different than Voldemort's fear of death, represented even by his name. That anyone could be this accepting of their less than glourious end.

Then the sword held by the laughing man (whose face was painted in strange patterns and whose nose was ugly and red and round, as if a ball was stuck to his face, _was_ it a ball stuck to his face?) swung down.

And Regulus panicked and drew his wand, his mouth falling open to cast a spell, quickly, to save the kid from certain death. He didn't even know what spell he was going to cast only that he had to _do_ something. Anything, because that bright light in the boy's eyes shouldn't ever go dim. Not even slightly.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried because just as the sword was a few centimeters from the boy's neck, a great beam of lightning struck the platform and lit it on fire.

He barely stopped himself from gaping like the rest of the crowd but his wide eyes, shocked by the sudden interruption, were enough of an indicator.

Then, it started raining. Thankfully, he had his cloak but even if he didn't, he wouldn't have noticed because he was too busy looking at the laughing boy who picked up his hat from where it has fallen and put it on nonchalant or completely ignorant to the people's reactions.

And Regulus was-

Actually really impressed.

Then, Straw Hat Luffy, for that's what the soldiers were shouting at him, amongst the occasional ' _halt!_ ', ' _stop them_ ', and ' _don't let the pirates escape!_ ', along with his crew, _presumably_ , started running and disappeared among the crowd of the still speechless onlookers.

Regulus watched them go and still looked in the direction they ran off to until he couldn't even hear the Marines' (he read the name on their uniforms) voices.

He finally looked away and pulled the cloak's folds closer to himself, the rain and wind trying to tug it free from him. Then he turned on his heel and walked on, continuing on his way. He needed a place to stay and money to pay for it because despite being the son of a noble Family, he didn't have a single coin on him, nor a single thing he could sell. His wand and clothes weren't even an _option_ (wand was his most important means of survival and his clothes were made of the best materials known to a witch and a wizard (ancient, rich noble family) and had multiple durability, warming and waterproof charms) and his heir ring, he looked at the silver band, decorated with with a white stone (ironic, really, for the _Black_ Family) embedded in it around his finger, his heir ring wasn't an option either.

The only option was either to steal it, which was _unsightly_ for the heir of one of Britain's most famous Families. Or _earn it_ , which, considering the town, would also be unsightly. After all, a Black working as a shopkeeper or a butcher? Maybe a fisherman? It was beneath the Family.

There was also a third option, an illegal one, Regulus narrowed his eyes, and useless in the Wizarding World too, because everyone could just check its trustworthiness with a quick spell. Here though... These people weren't magical, they were all Muggles from what he could see.

They wouldn't be able to tell that he falsified a few ( _hundred_ ) of whatever currency was being used here.

A plan began forming in his head.

Acquiring a room to stay at and a hot meal to satisfy his aching stomach was easy once he waved a few banknotes, as he came to know the paper money was called. He stayed in the town for several days during which he mostly loitered around the bookstore and researched about this new world.

He learned its geography (which was _really_ strange, what with there being such a thing as Red Line, the four Blue Seas and, finally and most importantly, Grand Line which was said to be a whole new _world_ of weird). Bought a few kids' books about the language (which was a weird mixture of Japanese and spectacularly mangled English) which he pretended were for a younger brother who was just starting school and then a few history books which were quite sparse in facts and most likely _heavily_ edited. Also, what caught his interest was the bit about 800 years ago which was a time no one had any information about. Quite curious.

Then, on the fifth day, tired but restless, he sat down on the bed and looked at his choices. He could stay here, make more _bellie, berrie (or whatever it was called)_ with just a flick of his wand, become rich and live comfortably but probably alone for the rest of his life. Or he could go to the place that is known for the strange, _unexplainable_ things happening there every day. Which sounded a little bit like magic or the magicals playing around with the Muggles. And find a way home there in all that strangness. And find a way to _Kreacher_.

It really was no question at all.

* * *

He was fully prepared to face the Grand Line (technically). He acquired a Log Pose, strengthened the charms holding his transfigured boat together and then bound them with the strongest runes he knew (and, being a Black _and_ a bookworm, as Sirius was fond of calling him along with other, not-so-innocent names, he knew quite a lot of runes) so that it won't randomly transform into an unsteady raft in the middle of a storm or something.

He stocked up on food, fruit, vegetables and some meat which he neatly preserved by casting a spell, grateful for his long standing friendship with Kreacher thanks to which he picked up a household charm or fifty. He also bought a bed because sleeping on transfigured wooden planks was an emergency _only_ thing which he would like to avoid. And, of course, blankets and clothes. Also, to go with the books, a journal (quick charm and it had infinite number of pages), quill, ink and a small brown satchel which he charmed to be a lot bigger on the inside.

Plus, of course, medical supplies, which, unfortunately as it seemed there was no wizards _here_ (though Grand Line was fair bet), were all primitive, Muggle ones. Not a single potion in there. He would have to deal, though. Or, make his own, if this world had the ingredients he would need or their substitiutes.

There weren't a lot of books or articles on the place either. It was all heavily edited and ridiculous-sounding, even for a wizard so he decided to take it all in with a grain of salt.

Like this, he deemed himself ready as can be for the so-called Pirate Graveyard. A good thing he wasn't a pirate then, no?


End file.
